


If At First

by Darksilvercat



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Time, Fluff, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-19
Updated: 2012-08-19
Packaged: 2017-11-12 14:11:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/492005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darksilvercat/pseuds/Darksilvercat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It wasn't good, the first time.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	If At First

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to LiveJournal on May 3rd 2009.

It wasn’t good, the first time. Which is ridiculous really, sex with an angel, shouldn’t it be like a little bit of heaven or something? It wasn’t though.

It was hot and frantic, and over too fast, and in all honesty he didn’t have a clue what he was doing for most of it. It was like being fifteen all over again, two inexperienced kids trying to figure out what worked and what didn’t, what felt good and what was awkward and slightly painful.

Painful being something of an understatement if he’s honest. He doesn’t remember at any point agreeing to be the, you know, _receiver_ , but angels seem to have a thing for being in control, and God help him but that part was definitely good at least. Not like being dominated or controlled or ordered around, none of that crap, just being taken care of in a way he’s really not used to at all, but again, angel. So it shouldn’t really have been surprising that in amongst the fumbling with shirt buttons and belts and zippers, Castiel would take the time to kiss and caress as though he was something to be cherished, not something dirty and damned.

He almost believed it for a moment.

Whispers against his skin in a language he didn’t recognise; prayers or blessings or dirty talk for all he knew, but that part, that had been pretty damn good too.

Clothes had disappeared completely at some point, although he has no idea how, he doesn’t recall ever taking his hands away or stepping back long enough to get free of them. Skin on skin contact, that was good of course. Muscles taut and bodies slick with sweat, sliding against one another on their way to the bed, the journey far longer than necessary because they just couldn’t wait.

The sheets had been coarse and scratchy when he found himself pressed against them, warm weight over him as Castiel kissed him from lips to collarbone, down his sternum, across his belly and just fucking everywhere. Crawling back up the bed to lean over him, grinding their hips together and _that_ , oh man, that had been fucking great.

Nothing compared to what had come next though, and an angel just shouldn’t be capable of the kind of sinful things this one had done to him with mouth to cock, one hand pinning his hips while the other slid down behind his balls, and okay, that had been a little weird at first, but weird in a good way.

Weird in a fucking _great_ way when a second and third finger joined the first, and it had hurt, but that hadn’t stopped him from pushing back against Castiel’s hand, pain being something he’s pretty fucking used to after all. The angel in question humming approval around his cock, and he thinks that was a good feeling, but it’s kinda hard to be sure because at the same moment those fingers had hit something inside him that made him feel fucking amazing, and he couldn’t really remember much after that.

More pleasure, then more pain when the angel eased into him, moving slowly, filling him up and splitting him apart, and holy fuck- no pun intended- that had really hurt. Really fucking _hurt_. But Castiel was patient and gentle, kissed him, caressed him, re-positioned him and sank even deeper, waiting for him to be ready.

Ironic really, considering he was the one who had started it, one minute talking about feelings and all that crap, only he doesn’t do feelings and he’d always been better at show than tell, so he’d made the first move. Castiel hadn’t resisted, and then somehow they’d ended up here, and it was a freaking angel of the Lord waiting for _him_ to be ready, so he’d bit his lip and nodded his head, and the angel had started to move.

Slow and steady, hot and intense, Castiel leaning down, stomachs pressed together. His cock and the angel’s hand trapped between them, and that was enough to distract from the pain for a while, until he’d realised that there wasn’t any pain anymore, just that feeling, that fucking _amazing_ feeling of a dick repeatedly thudding into that place inside him that made him see stars and forget his own damn name.

Not that it mattered, his name that is, because there was only one name in his entire world right then, repeated over and over like a fucking prayer.

 _Cas_.

Every time he’d said it Castiel had thrust in a little harder, murmuring words against his lips that still sounded like a foreign language, only he thinks he may have caught things like _chosen_ , _loved_ , _blessed_ , but that can’t be right so it must have been foreign. Certainly didn’t make any sense to him.

Things got kinda hazy after that, nothing much registering but the pleasure and the feeling of strong arms wrapped around him and hoisting him upwards until he was sat in Castiel’s lap, fingers digging into his shoulders as the angel gripped him tight and lifted him up and down, thrusting up at the same time. He would have helped, really he would, he knows how to pull his weight, only at that moment he hadn’t seemed to be able to control his own body, pure ecstasy burning his every nerve-ending meant he couldn’t do much more than tremble and shake.

Castiel had kissed his neck, whispered in his ear- _now, Dean_ \- and that had been fucking _it_. He’d come like it was his first time, gasping and shaking and moaning Castiel’s name, and the angel had been right there with him, panting his name like a prayer, burying their faces in each other’s shoulders as they came. He’d worried, for a split second when he felt Castiel’s come, hot and wet inside him, some panicked thought about condoms flitting across his mind before he’d remembered that this was a freakin’ _angel_.

He’d slumped against Castiel, utterly spent, and the angel had held him steady, laid him down and kissed him again, and said I love you.

Crazy thing is, he thinks he believes it. That part at least.

It’s not going to fix everything. Hell, knowing him it’ll probably only cause even more trouble, but it’s a start. Because if he can believe that, then maybe he can believe the other stuff. The stuff about being forgiven and blessed and loved and safe, the stuff that he’s always dreamed of but never dared hope he might one day have.

Until an angel had laid down beside him, curled around him and held him tight, and told him he was loved.

So that was the first time. What was the point of this again?

Right, first times are never perfect. He’s pretty sure he’s forgetting something, no idea what, but it can’t have been that good the first time, not when neither of them had any kind of experience in the matter. (The vessel, God rest his soul, had never done it either according to Castiel, so really, there’s no way it was that good, right?)

But that’s the thing about first times. There’s always next time. Plenty of opportunity for improvement. And angels, as it happens, have a lot of stamina.

The second time, if you’re wondering, was fucking _awesome_.


End file.
